


Encroach

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Genocide Run, Sad, Vague implications of child abuse, angstfic, papyrus tries his best, sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Human had done it. Sans, along with Undyne, Mettaton and everyone Papyrus had really known, had been killed. And so he was there, in the golden, exquisite hall, waiting for them to arrive.</p>
<p> He had a few choice words for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encroach

**Author's Note:**

> it's time for an angstfic! i love writing these

  The hall was grand; a display of opulence in a kingdom that desperately needed it, a shining beacon of what was possible in a deep, dark world, devoid of any natural light, relying on the wonder to light their darker days. It was massive, impossible to miss in the neat, stone buildings of the inner Capital, before they petered off into more modest homes, before those, too, vanished into ramshackle huts along the outskirts of the burgeoning, swollen city. It was there, and could be seen, and could be marvelled at, a tantalising taste of what the outside world might hold.

  It was sickeningly quiet.

  The humdrum of the city was quelled because God, there was a Human near, a Human, and that in itself inspired fear, but one with intent, set about slaughtering the last of the Monsters, cutting down anyone they came across?

  The people were too resigned to riot. They hid in their homes, and waited. They waited for a hero, a true one, a bastion of Monsterkind, who would cut down the child without a second thought and secure their safety so they could rebuild their lives once again on the surface; who would be cunning and merciless and be willing to draw blood. Clad in armour, perhaps, or deceptively strong, but someone who would intervene when thousands wouldn’t, someone that could save them with a well placed spear to the neck, with a twitch of the wrist, something, anything.

  Unfortunately Papyrus would have to do.

  He stood in the hall, facing down what he almost certainly knew to be his death, and waited for the serene sweep of calm to overtake him, the one he had heard so much about. The gentle, weary silence that came with your imminent demise. This did not happen. In fact, it would be fair to say that he was, beyond all, petrified, because death is a scary concept. He had never truly known it. But there was a reason he was there, and he considered it a good one.

  He puffed out his chest and spoke. His voice cracked.

  “SO IT’S COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOU _MAY_ HAVE MURDERED EVERYONE I LOVE AND BROUGHT ABOUT THE DOWNFALL OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND WHOLESOME...”

  The child, barely a teenager, if he were correct, took one heavy, shambling step forward. They never stopped smiling, that was the odd thing. This was different than murderous intent, it was something far worse, and Papyrus was absolutely certain he would not be able to get through to them. But Sans would always say that ‘quitters never prosper’, and Papyrus would do his best to ignore the hypocrisy in his statement and take it to heart. It was best to try. It was all he could do.

  It was all he really had left.  
  
  “AND BY ‘MAY’ I MEAN, UM, HAVE ABSOLUTELY DONE THAT.”

  Another heavy step, dragging their arm, and the knife, against the pillar as they advanced, one step at a time. They had such small hands, Papyrus noted, and they did not fit snugly around the knife. Twenty feet away. A few seconds, if they broke into a sprint.

  Papyrus wished he could give up. It was selfish, and sullen, but he did. He could accept his fate quietly and die with sunny dignity, presenting his neck with an earnest smile because he had nothing else left.

  It was the only reason he was here. He had nothing else left. He was dreadfully, profoundly alone in a world that did not seem content with leaving him be, to his simple dreams. He always wanted more. He wanted a friend. He gained a friend. He wanted training. He received training. He wanted Sans to be more proactive. Sans had confronted the Human and died for it, a single lop to the neck and he was done. It didn’t matter how strong you were, how resilient, how smart, how funny, how brave; decapitation was decapitation. It was notoriously difficult to bounce back from. Papyrus would have taken Sans lazing around all day, every day, if it meant he were here.

  It was a suicide mission. And he knew that. Of course it was, the child had systematically slaughtered their way through the Underground. He did not want to die. He did not want to be alive. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be at home. He didn’t want to do much of anything, really.

  Papyrus had always wanted to be important. To be a Royal Guard.

  And so here he was.

  ‘Guarding’ the king. Not really, but in spirit.

  Papyrus never liked irony. It always seemed to be at his expense.

  He had nothing else left.

  “I-I THOUGHT THINGS WERE GOING WELL! IT’S JUST... IT’S JUST YOU SHOWED UP AND EVERYONE CAME DOWN WITH A SUDDEN CASE OF MURDERED?”

  One sneaker, one well-worn, dirty sneaker squeaked against the floor of the hall, echoing out and over, and Papyrus heard the noise before he registered what it truly meant.

  “EVERY TIME YOU TAKE A STEP DOWN THE WRONG PATH, IT’S LIKE I’M BEING STABBED IN THE CHEST--”

  A knife’s tip narrowly grazed his armour, leaving a cut across it as he dodged, tossing himself back.

  The Human was in front of him now, the inertia carrying them forward, unable to stop under their own weight. Papyrus took a deep breath, grit his teeth, and reared back his leg. Just enough to keep himself alive. To get his point across. Just enough.

  He kicked them in the guts, making a point to avoid the ribcage, or anything breakable, focusing on pushing them back rather than injury. With an ‘oof’ they slumped to the ground, one hand braced to the floor, heaving. Alive, sore, but winded. Foam frothed at the corners of their mouth and they tried to take in gasping breaths.  
  
  “THAT WAS NOT AN INVITATION TO _LITERALLY_ STAB ME IN THE CHEST! HONESTLY! YOUR MANNERS ARE, QUITE FRANKLY, APPALLING.”

  Papyrus let his stance slump, lowering his leg and meekly scraping at the floor with it. He took a few tentative steps back, to increase the distance between them. He wanted to prise the knife from their hands, but from the look in their eyes and their shaking grip on the weapon it seemed like a bad idea.

  “SORRY. YOU WERE GOING TO KILL ME. AND YOU CAN’T DO THAT UNTIL I’VE FINISHED TALKING, IT’S... IT’S JUST RUDE!”

  He paused, tapping his fingers together. The light seemed to weigh down their shoulders as they clutched their stomach.

  “A-ARE YOU ALRIGHT? I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU--”

  A gargled shriek of disdain and he received his answer. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “RIGHT! NOW IS THE TIME FOR ME TO MAKE MY CASE. IT’S LIKE A COURTROOM WHERE, UM, IF I FAIL, YOU’LL SNAP ME IN HALF LIKE LUMBER, AND IF I SUCCEED HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE WILL STILL BE DEAD.”

  He choked back his grief, voice shaking.

  “S-STILL, I CAN ONLY TRY MY BEST!”

  The massive chamber framed them both in wreaths of gold, like a funeral pyre, that kicked up dust to hang between them both; tiny, luminescent specks falling from the Human’s clothes and drifting away. Papyrus made a point to hold his breath when he could see one nearby, but he knew that for every particle he saw there were hundreds more he couldn’t. He had probably breathed some in inadvertently. Desecrating the dead as well, wowie what an excellent, heroic stunt this was.

  “KILLING PEOPLE IS WRONG. I CAN’T BELIEVE I NEED TO SPELL THIS ONE OUT, IT’S LIKE SAYING... ‘SHOWER EVERY DAY’ OR ‘SAY PLEASE AND THANK YOU’. BUT IT IS. AND I’M NOT SURE WHY YOU’RE DOING IT. I WOULD LIKE TO... UNDERSTAND? IF YOU WOULD LET ME.”

  A gnash of teeth and the thud of a palm against the floor, the resounding snap of flesh against tile.

  “MY GREATEST FEAR IS THAT YOU WILL SEE THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS, PERHAPS IN THE FUTURE, THE FAR FLUNG FUTURE, AND... AND THAT YOU WON’T HAVE ANYONE TO COME BACK TO! AND THAT YOU WILL BE ALL ALONE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE, YOU KNOW. NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU MAY THINK YOU DESERVE IT, OR SOMETHING EQUALLY RIDICULOUS.”

  Papyrus thought back to his home in Snowdin. It was empty, and drab, and lifeless with no one to fill it, a duty usually taken care of by Sans. It would never be the same. Sans’ ashes were scattered around the house, anyway. None in his room. Papyrus couldn’t find the key. And when Papyrus, with his shaking hands, sprinkled it from place to place robotically; on the couch, on the porch where he would nap, on his rock, it didn’t seem real. And then, finally, finally, when he closed his eyes and rubbed the remnants into his bared carpals, dusting himself, as was traditional, it became sickening, loatheful and real. Grit hung in the gaps between his fingers, but he couldn’t wash them clean. The thought of it was agonising. But Sans was here with him, now, even if it were only in a small way, and that brought him comfort.

  He couldn’t find Undyne. She had blown away in the wind. He hoped she was somewhere nice.

  The Human slowly stood up, their breaths shallow, their grasp on the knife shaky. Papyrus put his weight on his back foot, ready to dodge.

  “YOU HAD SO MUCH PROMISE! WHEN YOU SHOWED UP I THOUGHT ‘WOWIE, I CAN GIVE YOU OVER AND GET SUPER POPULAR!’.”

  He paused.

  Was he really... _That_ lonely? To say out loud to himself, to reflect on it...

  Was he _that_ pathetic?

  His voice was somber, pasted cheerfulness finally washing away under the weight of it all. He felt hollow. If he wasn’t happy, he didn’t know what he was.

  “AND THEN SANS TRIED TALKING TO YOU BEFORE YOU REACHED TOWN, AND I...”

  His pre-planned speech fell to bits suddenly. It was what he did when he waited for the Human to show up, mentally prepare a list of bulletpoints on why murder was Wrong and Bad, and then when that was done and he had a few minutes to kill he started thinking of cool one liners for when he would die, the sort the burly action heroes he would fawn over would spout.

  ‘IT SEEMS I’M BONED!’

  ‘YOU REALLY KNOW HOW TO GET TO THE POINT!’  
  
  ‘... OW.’

  That last one needed work.

  “-- I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHY.”

  They took a step forward, staring him down, into the pits of his soul, and he knew he wouldn’t get his answer.

  “... WELL... PERHAPS YOU HAD YOUR REASONS? WERE YOU... WERE YOU SCARED, OF US, OF SANS, OF ME?”

  Papyrus shifted on his feet, aware he was staring his own demise right in the face, and he finally felt something bubble up from his ribs to sit thickly in his jaw, his face contorting.

  “... IT’S JUST I LIKE TO THINK I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT PROPER ETIQUETTE, AND LET ME TELL YOU, SHOWING UP AND _KILLING MY BROTHER_ IS RIGHT OUT!”

  Papyrus stopped himself, shocked at his own anger. He could mourn but his rage would be pointless, and he refused to feed it.

  “... I’M... I’M SORRY FOR SHOUTING, THAT WON’T HELP AT ALL. IT’S JUST... IT’S VERY FRUSTRATING! THERE IS A VERY SIMPLE SOLUTION IN FRONT OF YOU AND YET YOU DON’T SEEM TO SEE IT!”

  Another deep breath. Another plea in his wavering voice as the Human advanced again, slowly, savouring it.

  “PUT DOWN THE KNIFE. PLEASE.”

  They broke into a sprint.

  A bone, firm and pearly white, almost luminescent under the light of the hall, sat heavily in his hand. It was blunt and heavy, the weapon of an executioner, thought it would never, never be used as such. He prepared himself to fend off an attack.

  “I’M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU,” he said, mostly to himself, “NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS.”

  He felt his grip tighten on the bone until the fabric on his gloves split like skin. With a deep, shaky breath he loosened it until it could almost slip from his palm. He had to be very, very careful, because whilst they had killed many they were still a child, and to kill them would be--

  He blinked back the tears. Too many people had died, and he was about to count himself amongst them, but it was just... Unthinkable. All they had to do was stop, and so all he had to do was speak.

  They lunged forward, their head exposed, their hair soft, their skull fragile. He glanced to his hand, everything slowing. He...

  He couldn’t.

  “NOW I KNOW YOU’RE--”

  A swift slice through the air and a glint of metal passing by his vision as he kicked back, landing flatly on his backside. He rubbed his neck, shocked. They had gone straight for his head but weren’t tall enough to reach. He wouldn’t have died instantly. He did not know what to do with this information.

  They scrambled forward again, and he scrambled back in turn, bone in hand, reluctant to swing, one arm braced to the ground and the other palming clumsily at the air until he felt a pressure. Aha, that was their soul, in the distance, there it was!

  He pushed them back with his magic and it was like they were slipping down an incline, slowly, then quicker, until they were pinned awkwardly to a pillar, limbs thrashing as their trunk was held still. Papyrus dismissed his weapon, shaking, keeping his palm fixed from a distance. Every thrash made them that much more difficult to hold, like trapping a spider in your palms, every skitter bringing closer to freedom.

  Papyrus stole a glance at them, and it was such a simple thought, but it occurred to him just how dusty they looked. How lithe and frail, on the cusp of growing taller but not quite there. He didn’t want to look at their face. Even looking at the dulled, but very much real, knife brought him more comfort. He saw himself in it’s edge and suppressed his despair.

  “I BET IT TAKES A LOT OF STRENGTH TO SWING A KNIFE LIKE THAT ALL DAY,” he croaked, “BUT I THINK IT TAKES MORE TO PUT IT DOWN.”

  Papyrus’ scarf flapped gently underneath him, and he stopped it with his free hand, savouring the grit under his fingers.

  “I THINK YOU CAN DO IT.”

  It would be the easiest method, having them give up, and Papyrus knew Sans would appreciate that. Would have appreciated it.

  He... Was not used to thinking like that. He never would be.

  “THIS CAN ALL STOP.”

  They clattered the knife against the pillar, and he felt their soul grow taut under his grip, trying to break free. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his arm shuddered.

  “LOOK, HUMAN, I... I THINK IT’S BEST IF I’M TOTALLY HONEST WITH YOU HERE. I... SORT OF HAVE NO BACKUP PLAN.”

  Both hands, now. It was not difficult, using blue magic, but the level of control required to keep it steady for more than a few seconds was almost unheard of. Papyrus prided himself on his control; Sans could pack a bigger wallop as their childhood scuffles had proven, but Papyrus had the stamina he lacked. They were a good team.

  “WELL... I-I THOUGHT OF IT THIS WAY! IF YOU’RE SO SET ON DOING THE WRONG THING, THEN YOU’RE... PROBABLY GOING TO HUNT ME DOWN AND KILL ME ANYWAY, AREN’T YOU? S-SO AT LEAST IF I DO IT LIKE THIS, I MIGHT BE ABLE TO SWAY YOUR OPINION AND IF I DON’T... T-THEN IT WILL BE WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT I TRIED TO HELP.”

  Tears slipped down his cheekbones, but his voice remained high, lilting and sweet, it’s shriller points eroded in his grief until it was almost a rasp.

  “I... I HAVE SOUP AT HOME. YOU CAN SAY SORRY, AND WE CAN GO HAVE A NICE, WARM MEAL.”

  They went still, and he dared to hope that they understood.

  “H-HAVE YOU EVER HAD THAT? A HOME-COOKED MEAL?”

  His voice picked up.

  “... W-WOULD... WOULD YOU LIKE ONE?’

  He took a step forward, as if searching for a foothold on a cliff, his boots scuffling against the floor as he slowly moved. Was this... Was this happening? Was this really it?

  Against his better judgement, and hoping, praying that they were even a fraction as sincere as he was being, he advanced. Sans’ death would be fresh in his mind and he prayed that he never forgot his grief, but at least some good would come--

  The Human was not considering his plea. They were biding their time.

  The second hope fluttered in his heart and his resolve to keep them imprisoned wavered, they kicked one leg to the pillar and pushed off, screeching forward. Papyrus barely had time to summon a bone, and it trickled to dust uselessly in his hand now that he could no longer maintain it.

  The impact was cold, sterile, and dry.

  Papyrus thought to his one-liners.

  “OH DEAR. I APPEAR TO HAVE BEEN STABBED.”

  Papyrus groped at his ribcage, feeling the white-hot gash from the bottom to his sternum, feeling clumps of dust slowly falling from him. The Human took a step back, two feet away, to watch.

  “... I HAVE _ABSOLUTELY_ BEEN STABBED.”

  He laughed highly in disbelief, his hand finding the growing cavern of his ribs and groping at them, because, wowie, he was dying, he was going to die and it was only then that it occurred to him how great being alive was. He would have said something about the ‘grass being greener’. He was a bit busy.

  One large, heaving sob hit his body, the first since Sans died, because it was all so sickeningly real, it was real and he was dying and he didn’t want to die. His whole body shook, his legs about to give, and he saw everything; himself in the gleaming tile below, his red boots, his quaking legs, his shorts, his spine, his reflection. He looked to it, numb. Heroes, in books, and movies, accepted their sacrifices with a grim, humorous dignity, and yet he had never seen himself look more terrified. His sockets were deep, his breaths shallow, and his wound agonising.

  He saw the child, and his features softened.

  It wasn’t their fault, not truly, not really. People don’t wake up one day and decide to do terrible things. They simply enact terrible things. People were inherently good. Wholesome. Nice. And outside factors dictate whether you remain that way. He couldn’t imagine what had made this Human that way, what they had seen. He looked them in the eye.

  “W-WELP! IT APPEARS THE CLOCK HAS CHIMED FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS. B-BUT YOU SHOULDN’T WORRY ABOUT ME! I-I MEAN, I DON’T THINK YOU WILL. BUT STILL.”

  They looked back disdainfully. Smiling. Having won.

  Good God, did he never shut up? Did his need to hear his own voice outweigh his own body’s reflexive processes as it died?

  “YOU KNOW, I CAN’T...” He wheezed, speaking on the intake of breath as he steadied himself against his knee. “... S-SAY I DIDN’T SEE THIS COMING. I’M... STILL NOT TOO SURE WHY YOU’RE DOING THIS. BUT I TRIED MY BEST. MY VERY, VERY BEST. CAN YOU SAY THE SAME? I HOPE YOU CAN.”

  He was on both knees now, his hands flat to the ground, swaying, his neck exposed.

  “I HAVE HAD... A NICE LIFE. I AM NOT SURE THE SAME COULD BE SAID FOR YOU, FRIEND. AND I AM SORRY FOR THAT. AND I TH... THINK THAT, E-E--EVENTUALLY, YOU C-CAN... CAN...”

  His head lolled as consciousness slowly left him, his purpose with it, as his heap of a body crumbled, taking his lucidity and leaving him groping in the dark like a child at night. He looked for a bright white light, and couldn’t see it, and the fear of the unknown crippled him. He did, however, feel a presence as he scratched his hands, his mind spasming and twitching.

  “.... S-SANS... SANS, I DON’T--DON’T... DON’T _F-FEEL WELL,_ CAN YOU...”

  One brow, raised. One eye, slack and unfocused.

  “... GR--GRILLBY’S? THE INFINITE EXPANSE OF DEATH,” he slurred, “A-AND... YOU STILL END UP AT GRILLBY’S?”

  He laughed and it didn’t suit his voice, it was weak and delirious. He swayed his palm uselessly forward, as if grasping for something, anything, for someone to hold it and comfort him as he died, a luxury his higher functions knew he wouldn’t receive, but what his deeper, primal needs forced him to act upon. With one last, dusty choke, he finally collapsed, flat to the ground. Trust Papyrus to ham it up. God.

  The Human stepped over him and felt a bony hand claw at their ankle, a grip almost firm enough to break the skin. There he was, all of his strength dedicated to holding their leg, his head braced to the cold tile of the floor. There was only an upper half now, his boots and shorts lying empty on the floor, his spine slowly slipping away to dust and vanishing as if he was being dissolved in water. With a dying creak, he begged through his motions, not strong enough to speak properly.

  With a hefty kick, his grip loosened, but did not break. His fingers hung slack around the Human’s leg, resolute, all of his dwindling energy being put into this last-ditch plea.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

 

  “HU... HU-HUMA... HUMAN...”

  God, he was difficult to kill.

  “I FOR...F-F... FORGIVE--”

  They reared their leg and kicked at his skull in the way he had kicked them earlier, but instead making a very specific point to break bone. With a heaving snap, the deed was done, his body twitching as it succumbed to death, searching for input and finding none. He didn’t die with dignity like the others. He cried. Not wept, that implied the gentle dignity of grief, and he was succumbing to worse. He sobbed, and moaned. And then he didn’t.

  With a satisfied huff it was done. Another Monster erased. It was time to move on to the next.

**Author's Note:**

> next up is the husk sequel! it might take me a little longer than normal, but i hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> (Edit; thank you sewnchaosdoll for the lovely picture, it's much appreciated!!)


End file.
